


Life as a Superpowered Omega Sucks

by Spongeekat



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Clint Barton, Alpha Natasha Romanov, Alpha Scott Lang, Alpha Wade Wilson, Beta Bruce Banner, Beta Tony Stark, Eventual Smut, Identity Reveal, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Peter Parker, Omega Steve Rogers, Omegaverse, Secret Identity, Spideypool - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 21:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spongeekat/pseuds/Spongeekat
Summary: Peter just got invited on his first lengthy Avengers mission, one that will prove whether he's fit to continue operating as a hero on the streets of New York. Unfortunately, he's also an omega disguised as a beta, and on the week of starting his heat. Unable to miss out on the mission for the sake of his future, he goes anyways, equipped with a dangerous quantity of heat suppressants and an optimistic outlook. However, he wasn't prepared to end up spending most of his time with Alpha and long term friend Wade. Will he survive the mission and get back in time to spend his heat at home? Or ruin his health and suppress his heat long enough that he can prove his worth to SHIELD and the Avengers?





	1. Chapter 1

Peter Parker wasn't exactly  _ ashamed  _ of being an omega.    
  
Sure, he hid his status like the plague- masking his scent with an artificial beta spray, using heat suppressants at any given chance, only going off them when it was guaranteed he had a free weekend to spare, and wearing clothes that highlighted his un-omega-like toned arms when he was feeling particularly insecure about it- but it wasn't out of fear of being seen as such.    
  
But if you needed a picture painted of why he chose to hide his biological assignment in lieu of presenting himself as neutral, the one word he could begin to create it with was ‘Alphas’.    
  
Alphas secreted dominance with them wherever they went, leaving their cocky, charismatic scent all over public spaces. School was no different. From the days of 7th grade and up, when puberty started hitting Peter's classmates and kids were presenting left and right, the alphas took total control of the hallways. Big man Flash was the first to show clear signs of an alpha, and the rest of his crew of alphas and wannabee-betas fell right in line behind him.   
  
With the rise of Alpha-Beta and Beta-Beta relationships being accepted in society, omegas were far and few. Male omegas were even rarer, making up just 25% of the omega population. History taught the extremely fertile gender was previously discriminated against harshly by those that believed them to be nothing more than baby-making machines, and nearly eradicated, as only Alpha-Omega relationships could produce omegas. However,as the omega population went down, closely followed by birth rates, everyone had begun to realize the necessary role omegas played in repopulation. As such, omegas were presently celebrated and respected; lusted after and worshipped by alphas and betas alike. 

 

But that was mostly in their later years. Before alphas started to develop their sexual drive, they reveled in the chance to show their power over others, and omega girls tended to be their target. Peter saw kids shoved into lockers, thrown in trash cans, and pushed around on a daily basis. He’d only known 2 omega boys in his life, and the teasing had gotten so severe they eventually moved to homeschooling. Luckily, he hadn't presented, and when he reached 14, he was officially declared as a beta by the school nurse, giving him a pass to fly under the bully's radars at least a tiny bit more effectively. 

  
Unfortunately, being born as the child of a purebred omega and a groomed Alpha such as Mary and Richard left you more susceptible to presenting than other children.    
  
So when Peter awoke when he was 16, a few months after he'd taken on the Spider-Man persona, sweating and clawing at his clammy skin mid-heat, he knew the universe was doing whatever it could to fuck him over.    
  
Besides just school bullies being an issue when it came to his identity, another major reason he had to conceal any evidence of his omega status was the fact that he was Spider-Man. Not only would he most definitely be looked down on by his enemies or perceived as weak, but with the Avengers hardly taking him seriously as it is, and police on high alert searching for an alpha with superhuman strength, he didn't want to risk losing any more respect from the public. He wasn't totally popular at the moment. Besides, being known as an omega, especially a male omega, publically would narrow down the search quite a bit. What was he, one of 20,000 in all of New York City?   
  
Luckily, he'd been pretty successful in hiding it so far, even on days such as today when he was on the week of his heat and could feel the hormone changes already.    
  
There was some big-name-but-secretly-evil CEO from some big-name-but-sketchy company that had been quietly investing in illegal technology on the terrorist level, or at least that's what Peter had gathered so far. He always did have some trouble figuring out what Coulson was actually saying, especially when he was distracted by...everything. Particularly a shiny--    
  
"And we can count on you for that, right, Spider-Man?"    
  
Oh yeah. That was him.    
  
"What? Yeah, yeah, of course." Peter flashed his biggest grin to show he had definitely been listening and not spacing out like the 19 year old kid he was, but Coulson obviously couldn't see it through the spandex of his mask.    
  
All intimidating and slightly patronizing pairs of eyes turned back to stare at him, and he felt himself melting into his seat in guilt.    
  
Coulson drew a long sigh, rubbed his temple, then turned back to the map projected on the screen.    
  
"So, to repeat for Spider-Man, this point of investigation on the building will be a stealth mission. We'll send Natasha and Steve to the ground floor to  take out the heaviest of the security, and once they take notice of you, Spider-Man should have plenty of time to access the elevator shaft and descend to the bottom floor unnoticed. Once you're there, you need to find a way to get Tony in so he can disable the bombs placed on each level. That way, our agents can effectively infiltrate the premise with as little resistance as possible, end the weapons trade in Cabo, and place as many of the workers under arrest as we can.”    
  
Now Peter was a little confused, mostly by how he had spaced out all the way from the Russia plans to Mexico, but he was at least a little too proud to raise his hand and ask. 

 

“We already have your escort ready for your portion of the mission, Spider-Man, so don’t worry about that piece. We’ve already made contact and he shall be there tomorrow when you depart.” 

 

“I need an escort?” Peter earned an intense frown for his comment, and he shut himself up right away. “I mean, yeah. A-Okay with Me.” 

 

“Intelligence gathering will begin tomorrow. Meet here at 4 for your flight. Yes, Clint, 4 in the morning. Don’t be late, and don’t forget to bring any supplies you may need for a mission that may take up to two weeks. The majority of your time in Russia will be spent on hold as back-up, in case something goes awry, until we make our move on their transportation facility once we’ve acquired enough data. Keep that in mind when packing. ” With that, Coulson officially ended the meeting and began to gather up what he had brought over. Peter was happy to escape, until he realized what exactly Coulson had said. Two weeks? No, there was no way he could be gone that long. His heat was due sometime around Friday, maybe Monday at latest. Tomorrow, Tuesday, at earliest. He couldn’t go on a trip with the Avengers when it was so close. That would be a story he would never live down. 

 

“Yo, hey, Mr. Stark.” 

 

“Kid.” 

 

Peter side-stepped Captain America as he shuffled past, ending up in front of the man he’d gotten closest with over the time he’d been working with several of the team members. He hadn’t yet discovered Peter’s true identity, though one time a few years ago Peter had clarified in the heat of the moment he was only 17. Since then he’d gotten quite a few check-ups at random from the tin-man, and he seemed to arrive at big fights involving Spider-Man faster than before. “Hey, uh, he said this mission was going on for 2 weeks?” 

 

“Yep.” Tony answered as he shoved his expensive tablet into its case, depositing it in his bag. “Homework standing in your way?” 

 

“No, no, that’d be totally uncool.” Peter mentally crossed that off his list of excuses he had prepared. “I just don’t know if I can like...keep my cover that long. I have a lot of people that expect to see me every day. I don’t think the flu will work again.” 

 

“Then use the Stark Internship papers I signed.” Tony sighed thickly, turning to face Peter with an impatient expression. Peter internally cringed, able to see the extra stress he’d been under reflected on his face. He was five seconds from being scolded. He could feel it like a truck about to run him over. “Tell them you’re going on a school trip. Use my card and book hotels for proof. Figure it out. You’ve known since yesterday it was this long.” 

 

“I...you’re right.” Peter relented. Guess there was no helping it, then. He’d just have to make sure to make the mission went by fast. And bring as many heat suppressants as possible, no matter how ineffective they were on him. “Sorry. I’ll get it sorted.”

 

“Good. This is your chance to prove we can trust you as a part of this team.” Tony continued, walking past Peter and towards the door. Peter kept up with him easily, shadowing him through the hallways of the tower. “You’re young, and that’s kept SHIELD off your back for years. Don’t let this mission be the reason you have to give up everything you’ve worked towards.” 

 

“It’s that important?” 

 

“It’s that important.” Tony repeated back. 

 

Peter hadn’t even begun to consider this may be some sort of test to allow him to continue to operate in New York without proper jurisdiction. However, that made sense. Why else would an entire important section of the mission be dedicated to him? Or at least he assumed it was important. He wasn’t paying attention during the rest to find out what anyone else was doing. In fact, what was the goal of their mission again-- ?

 

Tony’s shoulder came up close to Peter’s face too fast,and he realized too late he had stopped walking. He barely managed to catch himself before he rammed into the taller man from behind, taking an uncomfortable step back. Tony turned to face him with a suspicious expression, slight worry maybe-possibly mixed in there somewhere. “You’ve been acting weird since yesterday.” 

 

Peter swallowed. Pre-heat brain. But he couldn’t say that. “I guess so? It’s probably just because I’m around all of you guys and-” 

 

“Cut the crap. What’s up? Why are you so determined not to go?” Tony eyed him, as if he could see through his facade if he stared long enough. “Are you hurt?” 

 

“What? No, I’m fine. Totally good.” Peter insisted, only realizing his missed opportunity once it was too late. “I think I’m just tired. I’ll make sure not to stay out too late tonight for patrol.” 

 

“Maybe stay home and sleep the entire night. I’m sure New York will survive for a night.” Tony still didn’t look like he believed him, and Peter almost preferred being ignored. 

 

“I’ll think about it.” Peter agreed, though there was no way that was going to happen when he was already going to be gone for an extensive period of time. “Anyways, thanks for the talk. I should really get working on my excuses and alibis and stuff.” 

 

“Right. Try to take it easy.” 

 

“Will do.” 

 

Peter peeled out of the conversation before Tony could press it any further. He sprinted through the hallways of Stark Towers, pushing on each window until he found the one that was actually able to be opened at this height, indicated by a small rush of wind detectable only to his sensitive ears. His gloved hands pressed lightly on the surface, letting the glass pane swing out after some resistance. Peter crawled up onto the sill, his path home highlighted between the numerous skyscrapers littered along the streets. The cars honking below gave a rise to his adrenaline, and then he was falling, leaping from the building to give himself enough distance not to hit the wall, but free-falling like a bullet through the wind. 10 stories or so down he finally caught his fall, webs shooting out from both wrists with a distinct  _ thwip _ . His arms jolted at the end of his dissent, before he was soaring again through the air, waiting until the last second possible before he would let another strand sail out and grip onto a pole or a ledge. All the while, calculations of heat suppressants and calendar days ate through his brain. He was sure this mission was just going to last a couple days, and the 2 weeks warning was just precautionary. They’d be in and out within a few days, and he’d be home and in bed by Saturday at the latest. They were the Avengers! It didn’t take that long for these kinds of things. 

 

Probably. 

 

\--

 

Peter was not awake, by any means, the next morning. 

 

He had followed Tony’s advice and passed out before midnight. However, that still meant he only got a few hours in before he had to be up and packed by 3. He shoved a few days of civvies into a bag, rolled up tightly to conserve space, basic toiletries and underwear, and of course packed the rest of the space with necessary tools in case he got unlucky enough to end up in heat; a week’s worth of heat suppressants (enough for a normal metabolism to last a month, but he was unlucky enough to burn through a day’s worth in a few hours), 2 bottles of faux scent to mask his, and anti-anxiety medication to take the edge off if he was in a difficult spot. With that, he snuck a quiet breakfast and left Aunt May a note, before taking off with toast in his mouth towards the hangar he was told to meet in. 

 

Peter was surprised to find himself to be the only one in full uniform. Tony had his suitcase in hand but had made no attempt to wear it even partway, Steve had on sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt, Clint hadn’t even changed out of his pajamas, but he did wear his bow over his back, and Natasha was in her bodysuit without any of her normal accessories layered on. They were still waiting for Peter’s supposed stealth mission escort, as well as Scott Lang, but otherwise Peter felt quite out of place. 

 

“Don’t tell me you’re a morning person, too.” Clint walked in front of Peter, eyeing his suit with a yawn that made him look half-asleep still. “Sam and Steve exhaust me even  _ thinking _ about waking up this early. I can’t be the only one thinking this is ungodly torture.” 

 

“I’m running on pure adrenaline right now. I only got a nap in last night.” Peter admitted in a low voice, stretching to work the soreness out of his muscles. Usually he could sleep in short spurts and still have some energy for the day. Today, however, his body decided to try to shut down every 5 minutes and force him into sleep. “Honestly, I hope this plane ride is long enough to get a couple extra hours in-” 

 

“I KNEW OUR LOVE WOULD PREVAIL.” 

 

“Oh no.” Peter blanched, and didn’t even dare turn around. “Please tell me it’s not who I think it is.” 

 

“No one told you?” Clint tsked, giving Peter a pitying look. “Yeah, sorry. He’s the only one we felt complimented your skills enough to be your escort.” 

 

“Spidey, we’re finally official teammates! Or I guess I’m more like your babysitter. That just takes all the sex-appeal  out of it. Ooh, wait. I’ll be the professor, and you can be my  _ favorite  _ student I give after school lessons to.” 

 

“Please tell me this is a joke.” Peter swallowed hard, able to smell the alpha behind him from where he stood. Apparently he was the only one that noticed how intense of a scent the man carried with him, as no one else seemed as repulsed by the air. 

 

“Sorry, dude. Can’t always get what you want.” Clint threw Peter a grin that was so smug he wanted to wipe it off his face. However, he made a mental note not to try to attack any of his teammates no matter the situation, and turned to face his battle head-on. Clint passed by the red-clad newcomer with a short, but crisp, high five, and gave the spider one last wiggle of his fingers. What a jerk. 

 

“Heeeey, Deadpool.”

 

“I thought they were kidding when they said you were on this mission.” The mercenary - or ‘in the process of retiring from murder’ mercenary- crossed the distance on the roof, standing inches above Peter. He wasn’t intimidating, however. More like… a giant, annoying man-child. 

 

Who Peter also happened to be sort of good friends with. Like, to the point they played video games maskless at Wade’s Manhattan safe house and split pizzas when on patrol. 

 

“Ouch.” 

 

“Not that there’s anything wrong with you, Pumpkin. But you gotta admit, if  _ I  _ get asked to join in on missions before you, something seriously needs to change about your job performance.” 

 

“Pretty sure they only brought you along as a bullet shield. So you could distract the bad guys with your giant mouth.” Peter shot back, though all in good humor. 

 

Wade made a dramatic gasp, one gloved hand shooting up to cover his lips in true theatrical fashion. “I guess it’s good my kink is getting used.” 

 

“That’s...A weird kink to have.” 

 

“Does it turn you on?” 

 

“Not at all.” 

 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” 

 

“Hey, Tweedledee and Tweedledum.” Tony’s voice sounded behind Peter, jarring them both from their banter. “Get ready to board.” 

 

“Aye aye, Captain.” Wade saluted in response, then glanced back down at Peter. “You’re sitting by me, right?” 

 

“Definitely not.” 

 

“Awww, Spidey!” 

 

“Let’s  _ go.”  _  Natasha ordered, her head peeking out from the corner of the craft. 

 

Wade threw out his hand with a gentlemanly “after you.” Peter, unable to resist a moment of humor and making Wade laugh, half-courtesy’d in return and made his way towards the short ladder leading into the plane. 

 

The inside of an Avenger’s aircraft wasn’t anything like Peter had pictured. Being sponsored by a billionaire apparently didn’t reap the benefits of travelling in style; rather than being filled with alien tech, or super advanced spy technology, or even genuine leather seats, the inside of the plane was rather bland. It featured a cockpit illuminated with buttons and levers that Peter hadn’t the slightest clue their true intention, only slight privacy given to the designated pilots at the front. Behind that rested a computer Peter had to resist the urge not to immediately ask to study, as well as spaces in the sides for weapons and storage. The seats were spaced so that there were 8 passenger seats, stretching along the length of the plane. Peter situated himself in the back, close to the hatch they used for for entering. Somehow, having an escape route made him feel more secure than the claustrophobia he would feel trapped between two well-respected heroes. Or maybe he was just self conscious. Either way, he sat himself down as far from the others as he could get, and shoved his backpack in his lap. 

 

Wade decided to take the spot right next to him, despite 3 other seats remaining open, and Natasha -looking as judgemental as ever- took the space across. 

 

“The Itsy Bitsy Spider ran up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out!” Wade apparently became quite the comedian under pressure, pulling out his katana Bea - or maybe it was Arthur- to start sharpening the length. Both the spider-themed heroes gave him an irritated look, Peter a bit more disbelieving he would bother one of the scariest members of the team, before Natasha cleared her throat. 

 

“I’m sure I could find a way to make sure you don’t come back, if you keep this up the entire ride there.” The ginger commented dryly, crossing her legs in a way that Peter felt he was a second away from witnessing Wade’s death. 

 

“That would be my lucky day, cupcake.” Wade grinned back, sliding his katana back into its holster. Despite his cool exterior, Peter knew he thought Natasha was hot shit that could beat him to a pulp. “I’m quaking in my suit. I don’t know if I’m scared, or excited, but probably both.” 

 

Scott swiveled in the chair placed just in front of the computer he had claimed, the metal loudly squeaking to catch their attention. “I am not dealing with you two arguing for 12 hours.” 

 

“15 hours.” Bruce mumbled, though he remained primarily focused on a notebook filled to the brim with incoherent scribbles. 

 

“I am not listening to you arguing for 15 hours!” Scott corrected, folding his arms in a fatherly fashion.

 

“I don’t even remember you being invited, LadybugBoy.” Natasha’s subtle but annoyed comment instantly sent Wade into a fit of laughter, jolting her from her anger. The change of Wade’s attitude was just enough for her to relinquish her dangerous atmosphere for a moment, and she settled calmly back in her seat. 

 

“It’s Ant-Man.” Scott mumbled indignantly, which only served to make Wade laugh harder. The ex-convict turned back to his computer to rest his head, and for once in his life Peter saw Natasha crack an expression similar to a grin. 

 

The conversation seemed to settle their nerves, as well as at the 4 AM call time, because the Avengers grew completely silent within the hour. Clint dozed off first, followed by Bruce (after he injected himself with some tranquilizer he often kept with him), and Natasha dropped into some weird relaxation that was close to sleep, with her body still tensed and at the ready to fight at any time. Scott was still sulking by the time Peter felt himself start to fall asleep, a yawn being the first sign of his body begging for a nap. Wade seemed to notice immediately despite the mask, because a gloved leather hand wormed its way to the top of Peter’s head to try to pull him in to his shoulder. Peter didn’t budge, giving Wade a deadpanned look. “Dude.” 

 

“What?” Wade asked innocently, his arm retreating back to his side. 

 

“I’m not sleeping on you.” 

 

“I am the best goddamn pillow you will ever use.” 

 

“We’re on a plane with the Avengers.” Peter said in an awkward whisper as if it wasn’t obvious, crossing his arms stubbornly. 

 

“You don’t have to be shy about our secret relationship, Spidey. I’ve already told everyone you’re my lo--”

 

“Friend.” Peter cut in, groaning and sitting back in his chair with a huff. He had to admit, the seats weren’t very comfortable, and his stomach was tight with anxiety. Talking with Deadpool was easing at least a little bit of the pressure. 

 

“Friend with benefits. Just as exciting without the emotional attachment. I like your style.” Peter didn’t really have the energy to argue against Wade’s ramblings, so he just let his eyes slip shut and tried to focus on staying awake, figuring he could just rest his eyes for a few minutes. Eventually his body grew numb enough he was a little more comfortable, and the rest was doing wonders for his scattered brain and anxiety. 

 

His eyes shot open again when they hit turbulence, and he realized he had been passed out for an extensive period of time. Long enough that nearly everyone was asleep, including Wade, who was passed out on Peter’s arm. Peter stared at him for a few minutes, trying to decide whether to push him away and save himself the embarrassment of anyone seeing, or let him continue to slumber to make up for the nights he’d let Peter stay over on his couch and eat his fridge dry. 

 

He ended up choosing the latter after an extensive internal debate, though most of it was because his arm was completely asleep under the weight of his large head and leather mask, and he didn’t have the strength in it to push him away. It worked out fine in the end, once Peter had grown tired enough to fall back into sleep, when Wade’s head created a hard pillow for him to drop his cheek on. And that was how they spent their flight, until Wade roused and immediately started teasing Peter for falling asleep on him, to the point he got up and changed seats out of annoyance.

 

There was a reason Peter had said no to sitting by Wade. He was an asshole. Comfortable, but still an asshole. 


	2. Chapter 2

 

The hotel room they holed up in once they arrived in Russia was…to put it lightly, complete shit. 

 

It made sense to send Peter, a young adult clearly not from the area, and Wade, a man with a very distinct appearance that could easily be used to identify him, to a location that would be lucky to have a working security camera. That didn’t mean Peter still wasn’t grossed out by the dusty front desk, or the rat he saw running around when he first entered the makeshift lobby. The process of checking in under fake names and swiping the card allocated by SHIELD seemed to stretch on forever. 

 

Wade was conversing with the woman at the front desk in Russian that sounded fluent to his untrained ears, so Peter couldn’t follow along. He busied himself with drawing patterns into the floor, mimicking the path he would have to take in a few days time through the super-secret building no one would tell him anything about. He had more questions, wanting to make up for the time he was spacing it during the meeting, but only he and Wade were at this particular location over the next few nights. 

 

Natasha had taken Clint and Bruce with her to stay with a trusted individual somewhere in the city. Tony and Steve were at a SHIELD location too classified for even Spider-Man and Deadpool to know about. Scott had apparently been sent to another run-down hotel. While his role in this portion of the mission was vital, he was being put on reserve until further notice. Peter was offered a spot with Natasha at the home, but it would have been too difficult to keep his identity under wraps, so he instead opted to stay in the same hotel as Wade- Which may or may not have been a mistake. 

 

Eventually, the receptionist forked over two room keys, pointing off down the hall and relaying two numbers in Russian. Wade passed them to Peter, who flashed a polite smile, and started down the hall with their backpacks slung tightly. They searched the doors until they found 118 and 119, pausing just outside. 

 

Wade fumbled with the cards, sticking one in each hand at random, and shoved his arms behind his back. “Pick one.” He teased, a surgical mask drawn up over his lips and his hoodie pulled tightly around his face. Peter had, of course, seen his skin over the 4 years they had known one another, but the mercenary was still sore about his appearance and preferred just to keep it concealed. 

 

“I want this one.” Peter placed his palm against room 118, 119 having a suspicious red stain drawn over the carpet that looked like there had been attempts at shampooing it out for years. “Which arm is that?” 

 

“Don’t take the fun out.” Wade whined. 

 

Peter let out a groan and tapped Wade’s left arm. He produced both arms and opened his palms. Inside his left hand was the key to 119.  

 

“Sorry, baby boy. Better luck next ti-” 

 

Peter swiped the key to 118 from his right hand and scanned it. The door clicked open, and Peter pushed it open with a smug grin. 

 

Wade stood dumbfounded, watching the events unfold as if the devious younger man had stolen his first born. Finally he shut his mouth and straightened up, sliding his own card to gain access to his room. “I guess some people really do get everything they want. Just know, if I find bed bugs, I’m sleeping in your bed.” 

 

“It can’t be any worse than your pigsty back in New York.” 

 

“Hey! My pigsty has class.” 

 

“Goodnight, Deadpool.” 

 

Wade looked like he wanted to say something else, but decided against it and disappeared into his room. Peter quietly locked himself in his own, turning to face the small space he would call his for the next few nights, or however long this piece of intel gathering took. It was small, as he expected, barely the size of his bedroom back in his own apartment. There was a queen-sized bed stuck in the center of the room and a small, ancient television placed opposite on a dresser. The bathroom was mostly made up of a square shower and a toilet spanning on one wall, the toilet continuously running silently. It wasn’t terribly dirty, at least, as Tony had been sure to book them the most expensive rooms, and paid extra to assure they got fresh sheets. 

 

Peter wasn’t feeling the best, likely just plagued by nausea after the bumpy plane ride over, and he was more than ready to crawl into bed and catch up on the sleep he had missed.  It was somewhere around 3 or 4 AM here, which meant it was still dark outside for another hour or so. So the web-slinger pulled off his civilians, then his suit layered on underneath, and set them all in a neat pile in one of the dresser drawers. He didn’t remove his web-shooters, just in case, and pulled on the single pair of pajamas he had brought, before crawling under the covers that were way too light for the October morning. He soon found a comfortable sleeping position and closed his eyes. Anxiety over their crunched deadline was still bruising his brain,but he didn’t want to agonize about it now. All he could trust was that the skill of the group would make up for the difficulty of the mission, and they’d be in and out by the weekend. 

 

* * *

  
  
  


Peter awoke shivering. 

 

At first, in his dreary mind, he assumed it was due to the cold and wrapped himself tighter in the blankets to try to calm his tensing muscles.It took all of 10 seconds to realize he was instead overheating under the poor excuse of a comforter, the scratchy material making him increasingly uncomfortable. He opened his eyes to the sunlight filtering in through the curtains, temporarily blinding him. 

 

The world seemed too bright, and Peter's skin felt clammy under his clothing. He forced his eyelids shut again to try to fall back asleep, his dreams seeming a lot more comfortable than the present. Minutes passed, and Peter was unable to slip back into slumber, but rather was noticing just how… unbearable the world was beginning to feel. His stomach hurt, feeling like he got punched in the gut and his organs rearranged, leaving an empty hole in the center of his abdomen. His senses, which were usually dialed up to 150%, now felt closer to 300%. Everything felt way too loud, from the birds chirping outside his window to the baby crying down the hall.    
  
The baby’s cries made Peter’s stomach tightened, and he noted, with sudden panic, that moisture had begun to form between his legs. 

 

“Oh  _ shit. _ ” Peter started out of bed, now acutely aware of the fact that his temperature was burning. His voice was breathy, the foundation of his vocal chords tighter than usual. “Shit shit,  _ shit.  _ Not now! It’s the first day!” 

 

The poor young man tumbled from the bed, his feet caught in the sheets, as he stifled a cry of surprise when he hit the floor. He crawled the remaining distance to his backpack and tore it open. It was only Wednesday. His heat was almost always on time. Why did it come so early? 

 

But then he smelled it- The alpha pheromones radiating from the room over. They were much easier to pinpoint now, stronger than they had been just the day before. Wade had pushed his body into heat, and Peter simultaneously wanted to beg for his attention and beat the shit out of him for it. 

 

He realized he was spacing when another wave of heat started to wash over him, making him moan under his breath, jarring him from his thoughts. Peter ripped his clothes out and scattered them on the floor, locating his box of syringes and his vial of heat suppressants. He fiddled with the needles and tubes for a few minutes, his trembling hands making this task quite a bit more difficult, until he finally got the correct dosage and sunk the needle shaft into his thigh. Pressing on the plunger sent a cold liquid into his muscle, and once the barrel was empty he let the used syringe fall to the floor. Gradually, his muscles began to relax, and he could feel his breathing returning to normal. 

 

It was fortunate that he had woken up just before his heat had entered full swing, but he couldn’t deny the entire room stunk of omega now. Peter managed to find his scent blockers and doused his fingers in the murky ointment, rubbing a generous amount over the scent glands under his ears. With the area now smelling a lot less like a panicked omega in heat, he set to work on  deodorizing the room. He cracked the window to air out the space, but kept the curtains drawn, to make his exact location unidentifiable if the wind didn’t carry his smell far enough. The sheets were pulled from the bed and thrown into the shower, doused with enough water that the slick left on them wouldn’t be terribly obvious. Next went his pajamas bottoms, but he kept the shirt and tucked it back in his bag. Somehow he was working diligently, while he was still recovering from the condition he was in not 10 minutes before. 

 

Even so, Peter’s mind was definitely preoccupied on another issue.    
  
It was day 2 of their 5-14 day mission. He had packed enough heat suppressants to last him a week, but using them any longer than 3 days was considered dangerous. Not only that, but the longer he put off his heat, the harder it would hit when he let it come. He needed to find a length of time he was guaranteed to be away from the group, to ride it out, but finding an alpha to shorten it was completely out of the question. 

 

He could possibly tell Mr. Stark to see if he could be temporarily sent home...but the risk of his identity being found out was too high, and he would likely be scolded for not being honest in the first place- Maybe even kicked off the Avengers for good. Dealing with health issues seemed like the most sound possibility. 

 

For now, Peter just needed to get replacement sheets and ask the hotel staff if they had a spare candle he could borrow. Checking his clock, he’d only been asleep for 2 hours, which meant Wade might still be passed out. He prayed for that fact as he gathered up his sopping sheets and carried them down the grimy hall towards the lobby. 

 

The receptionist was less than happy to see he had soiled them this quickly, the housekeeper even more annoyed looking, though they quickly changed their tune when Peter promised to leave a hefty tip if they kept the charge for new sheets off their bill and kept a clean supply for him throughout their stay. He left with a greyed out flat sheet and a topper with holes, but it was better than a slick-stained set, so he gratefully spread them out over his mattress and lit the candle on the dresser. Now calmer, he eventually managed to crawl back in the bed and attempt to get an extra few hours of rest, wanting to be ready at any moment whenever they needed him again. It took almost no time at all for his sleep-deprived form to pass out again, lulled into a much more restful dream now that his heat symptoms had been dealt with for the time being. 

 

* * *

  
  
  


7 PM. It was 7 PM according to the clock plastered on the wall, they had already been in Russia for 17 hours, and Peter still hadn’t gotten a text back from Tony or Steve on his burner phone. He wouldn’t have been so inherently frustrated by the radio silence if he was even sort of updated on plan, or if they were still mid mission. However, it was already growing dark outside, and Peter had been sitting tensely in wait for them to call on his help. The hotel room that was supposed to feel like a mini-vacation had started to seem more like a prison. The only plus side was that Peter had powered his way through one essay and two written assignments, leaving him with book readings that were too difficult to focus on when he was so anxious. 

 

So he busied himself mindlessly watching some Russian soap opera on the poor quality TV, checking his texts every 2 minutes to be sure he didn’t miss any sort of an update. Still nothing, he determined as he flipped open the lid of his cheap pay-as-you-go cell. 

 

_ Did they actually need him at all?  _

 

He was reeled from his thoughts by an insistent knocking- or rather,  _ banging _ seemed to fit the sound better- obnoxiously from his door. Peter knew who it was before he had even made it halfway to the door, the thin walls giving him full access to unintelligible chattering transpiring from the mercenary’s conversation with himself. According to what Wade had told him in a fit of honesty, they were two voices he could hear clear as day, one a more honest version of himself, and one completely belonging to some ‘mad’ guy. Peter didn’t really understand it, but he had learned not to question matters that related to Wade unless it was required. 

 

Peter clicking the deadbolt prompted a ‘ _ shuddup’  _ from the hallway, and then he opened the door to see Wade clad in a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts that covered way too little for the season. Peter drew his eyes slowly down the line of his body, and then back up to his grinning face half-hidden by a large-brimmed hat, looking unimpressed. “Festive.” 

 

“I may have only heard the part about ‘vacationing’ and ‘Los Cabos.’” Wade returned with the same dumb expression trapped on his lips. “ _ Vamos a desnudarnos y tumbarnos en la arena. _ ” 

 

“I don’t think they even said anything about vacationing.” Peter couldn’t help the smile working itself onto his face, trying his hardest to stay sullen but not doing a very good job at it. He ignored his dirty comment, leaning cooly up against the door frame. “So? What’s up? Why’d you come bother me?” 

 

“I don’t know about you, sweetums, but I am absolutely  _ starving.  _ And I know you can out-eat me by a mile, so there’s no way you’re not going crazy with hunger cramps by now. Let’s go get food.” 

 

The mention of cramps made Peter wince in memory that his heat was impending and he’d have to give himself another dose of suppressants in… about 6 hours, due to his quick metabolism, though it was perfectly timed with his stomach growling in response to the thought of food. He hadn’t eaten in almost a day, and it was definitely taking a toll on his body. Wade snickered triumphantly at Peter’s involuntary reaction, making heat crawl up his neck. “I guess I’m a little hungry.” He mumbled, shifting awkwardly on the balls of his feet. “I didn’t bring any money, though.”

 

“Lucky for you, Iron Dick gave me a wad of cash before we got off the plane.” Wade waved around an envelope presumably of Russian currency, as if they weren’t probably surrounded by criminals in other rooms keeping their heads low. “We passed by a cafe on the way in to the hotel, and I’m really craving some blinis right now. So hurry that tight ass up and grab your jacket so we can go.” 

 

Peter really had no choice in the matter, and he had been desperately wanting to get out of the hotel room that had begun feeling way too cramped anyways. He hummed a resolved ‘mmkay’ and shut the door on Wade to give him the chance to get his stuff together. He also grabbed a jacket as suggested, not wanting to turn into a spider-sicle before he’d even gotten the chance to be a real part of the mission. He made sure to stuff an extra syringe in his pocket just in case, along with his burner phone on the off-chance someone decided to reply back, and shut his window tightly. 

 

Most of the omega scent had been wafted out into the cold, and the candle had replaced it with a cheap smelling spice. Peter struggled not to remind himself of the fact he was going out with Wade, unmasked and vulnerable, before his anxiety could talk him into feeling awkward about the entire situation. He made his way back to the door, shut and locked it,and looked back up at Wade’s eager eyes. “So...what’s blini anyways?” 

 

“Baby boy, I’m about to blow your mind wide open.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Peter came to find out the town they were staying in was called Scherbinka, and it was a lot smaller than New York. About 266% smaller, if his math was right. The business fronts were colorful, compared to the overcast weather blanketing the night sky. Wade had noticed Peter was shaking through dinner- mostly due to the cold and somewhat due to his heat symptoms numbly pulsing through his body- and had blanketed him with his leather jacket that was twice his size. It hung loosely off his shoulders, but it kept him warm, especially on their walk back to the hotel. 

 

“This city is kinda boring, huh?” Wade commented as he turned another alley, passing by rows of houses interrupted every so often by small businesses or motels. “They could have at least stuck us somewhere cooler. Like actually in Moscow? The escorts there are pretty cute.” 

 

“You want to go to Moscow just for the hookers? Not the art or theatre?” Peter snorted, pulling the jacket just a little bit tighter around himself. The fall really had a bite to it, and the sun sinking behind the hills only accentuated the weather. 

 

“Hey, sex work is a valid career, Pete. Back off, hater.” Wade stuck his hand obnoxiously in Peter’s face as he swatted it away, claiming his space again. “Anyways, I’ve been to Moscow for jobs like 6 times. I could give you a pretty good tour of the city; the good and the bad.” 

 

“I’ll have to take you up on that offer some other time. If we went there now, you’d blow the whole thing.” Peter grinned, turning to look up at him.

 

“What do you mean? Also, don’t make me make a joke about blowing  _ anything _ right now.” Wade gasped in dramatic hurt. 

 

“You don’t exactly blend in.” Peter murmured, but he could see the edges of a disappointed frown dragging Wade’s lips down, and he self consciously pulled the brim of his large hat further down his face. “But that’s not a bad thing.” He rushed out, not wanting to give Wade the wrong idea. “Your tacky clothes and drama queen act fit you. You like being the center of attention.” 

 

Wade instantly brightened, the hop returning to his step. “You got me there. That I do, sweetums, that I do.”  

 

They continued on their quiet walk through the suburbs, bumping into each other every so often with growing force to try to knock one another off the road. Peter couldn’t help his grin and a small laugh forcing its way up his throat when he nearly knocked Wade on his ass, but the man looked completely happy playing along. 

 

“This is nice.” Wade blurted out suddenly, drawing Peter’s attention up to him. 

 

“What?” Peter asked through his breathy snickering, watching Wade fix his shirt that had been coated with dust. 

 

“Hanging out. With you.” Wade murmured, stretching and bringing his arms up above his head as his muscles pulsed. The action had Peter feeling like he was staring too long, so he forced his face forward and added a bit more focus in his steps. “Don’t get me wrong, angel, I love any time I get to bring you back to my apartment, but you only chill with me because of our other halves. It’s cool that we can just get dinner together, y’know? Nothing hanging over our heads or some evil mutant dude about to bust down the Empire State Building so you have to run off. Just two gal pals.” 

 

“I never really thought about that.” Peter frowned, his eyebrows knitting in concentration. Now that Wade had mentioned it, they didn’t typically spend a whole lot of time together outside of ‘work.’ “I guess I just always considered us friends either way. You definitely bother me over text enough.” 

 

Wade didn’t respond, and when Peter curiously glanced up at his face he saw a weird expression in place. Maybe embarrassment? It was a funny look on the otherwise cocky man, but he didn’t comment. 

 

They walked a bit longer in silence, the street lamps lighting up their dirt path home, gravel crunching under their shoes, the cold biting at Peter’s nose and ears and turning them red. He briefly wondered if Wade experienced the same sensations, or if his healing factor gave him infinite body heat, before he heard him cough at his side. 

 

“Thanks.” He finally croaked out, and that ended their heart to heart for the night the rest of the way to the hotel. 


End file.
